


' i'm just pragmatic beyond any reasoning '

by JUBILEE_L1NE



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, Dead Wilbur Soot, Explicit Sexual Content, Ghost Sex, I Ain't Afraid of No Ghost (Ghostbusters), M/M, Not Beta Read, Porn With Plot, This Is STUPID
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:34:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27858413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JUBILEE_L1NE/pseuds/JUBILEE_L1NE
Summary: Wilbur, a friend and an ally—someone he stood along side until the very end, only to lose him too. Wilbur was gone, had been gone for so long now—sure, they didn't always get along, but Tommy respected him. Considering it's Tommy, respect in and of itself is an anomaly. Rarer then emeralds.Really, it just seemed that Tubbo would be a great President.Just like Schlatt.Just like Wilbur.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot/TommyInnit
Comments: 26
Kudos: 362





	' i'm just pragmatic beyond any reasoning '

**Author's Note:**

> I forget who on twt talked about Ghostbur and Tommy but,,,, Ghostbur and Tommy <3

He's been exiled—

It's _terrifying._ Everyone's eyes on him as he's forced to leave L'Manburg, the one place he's only ever truly known. He's fought tooth and nail to get here—live in the heart of _L'Manburg._

He fought Dream, fought against his adoring fans—fought George, fought Sapnap. Had multiple pets murdered, hell _gutted_ because of it. He proved himself to be as resilient as anyone else. Sure, he was the youngest out of anybody it seemed, but he managed to be a force to be reckoned with.

Managed to fight in wars, the like of which a sixteen year old should never see.

Of course he goes to _Pogtopia._ It's not like there's anywhere else he can go, considering Tubbo has gone and thrown him out—fucked him over. The only place he knows other than the Badlands— _considering_ Bad is friend's with Dream and George that seems about as smart as walking into L'Manburg, fully in the fucking nude with his hands _tied_ behind his back. 

He could search for Techno, but considering he wasn't able to actually grab anything out of his _chests—well,_ it's safe to say he's lucky there's an ender chest in _Pogtopia._

But he's not lucky about much else it seems, including his taste in friend's and role models.

He trusted him, needed him— _defended_ him so many times, and look where he is now. 

In a closed off cavernous deserted city, _buttons_ covering every fucking wall. They taunt him, reminding him of what he's lost.

Of who he's lost. 

Wilbur, a friend and an ally—someone he stood along side until the very _end,_ only to lose him too. Wilbur was _gone,_ had been gone for so long now—sure, they didn't always get along, but Tommy respected him. Considering it's _Tommy_ , respect in and of itself is an anomaly. Rarer than emeralds.

Really, it just seemed that Tubbo would be a great _President._

Just like Schlatt. 

Just like _Wilbur._

When he enters Pogtopia, he ends up sitting beside Techno's old potato farm before wandering out, on the way to head to his own former room before something weird happens.

Something _really_ fucking strange. 

His body feels cold, yet embarssingly warm at the same time. It's like _something's_ really there, actually there, touching him. It's a type of touch he hasn't felt before, a large hand traveling down his side before firmly cupping his ass.

Tommy jolts forward, arms pressed against the nearest stone wall. Instantly he digs his fingernails into the new found material, letting out a sharp exhale as he felt a slap against his arse. He managed to cover up an embarssing _groan_ with a cough, awkwardly attempting to stand up straight and look behind him.

What the fuck. He already knew there would be nothing there—no one was near him nor around him, no one even _followed_ him outside of L'Manburg. There was no one here, so why the hell did he feel something touching him, _especially—_

A hand slides down his still clothed thigh. It's painfully slow, heading the exact opposite way he _needs_ it to—he can feel his cock, embarssingly hard as he let's out a whimper. 

There's _definitely_ something touching him. 

He's never been touched like this before. Not by someone else at least. Or, _something_ else. He can't see anyone, still can't hear anyone, but that doesn't stop him from whispering under his breath as the hand slowly trailed it's way back up his thigh.

"Holy _fuck—who_ the fuck," He stutters out, word's mixing together. He was trying to say something more coherent, something that'd actually make fucking sense, but he ends up completely blank the moment he feels the hand slowly raising towards his underwear line.

Rough fingers, they've got to be _calloused—Tommy_ himself didn't have calloused hands, they were soft and never seemed to actually callous no matter how many times he fought against Technoblade, training to become the world's next warrior—

He didn't think calloused hands could _feel_ so good.

They feel strong, powerful and, well, dominate—he feels like he could be shoved into the stone wall easily, head held against it uncomfortably well the invisible figure _used_ him.

It's not a thought that's ever _crossed_ his mind before, being used and touched by someone else, especially someone he doesn't _know._ It's almost terrifying in a way, and hell he should be scared.

He is scared, but not scared enough considering he can feel himself throb.

Those hands travel up to his stomach, gently rubbing over each curve with light little touches. It's a cock tease to say the least, especially with how he can watch his _shirt_ begin to rise, feel it tug around his body.

He doesn't know what else to do but make it easy on whoever has ambushed him, raising his arms up into the sky well thinning his lips together. That's when he feels a soft kiss pressed to his neck immediately after, as if he's given the other exactly what they wanted.

The shirt comes off, his iconic red and white one. It's just tossed onto the floor, completely disregarded—it'd probably be covered in bugs or some shit by the time he went to grab it tomorrow, but by this point he didn't care. 

Hand's were exploring his body, touching him so lovingly—something about how he was touch starved would make sense here, but honestly Tommy didn't even _think_ it was just that. The hand's almost felt.. _familiar,_ if he really tried to think about it.

It's almost like he's felt said hands pat him on the back before, or flick him across the head jokingly. They almost feel like _Wilbur's,_ but colder, and touching him in places Wilbur wouldn't have ever tried to touch—he doesn't know why his stomach knots at the idea of this being Wilbur.

Doesn't know why he doesn't exactly think that'd be _fucked_ up, especially considering Wilbur was gone—dead, and totally too old for him. _Right..?_

He couldn't think too hard about that, finding those very same hands actually teasing him. One was placed on a now exposed nipple, gently rubbing it between two fingers—Tommy gasped, eyes fluttering closed the moment a wet mouth is placed on his other now hard bud.

A tongue swirling around it didn't help him any, the way he just clung to the wall in front of him, nails nearly breaking with how hard he was gripping was fucked—the fact he couldn't see who was attempting to fuck him was _fucked._

Tommy squeals when there's a soft nibble from the very same nipple that was being lovingly kissed, squealed when the mystery man gently pulled on his other nipple. He arched his back, eyes wide as a soft pant came out. _"Mmm,_ fuck what the _fuck."_

He couldn't manage to get much more out, not until he felt something brush up against his cock. He actually jolted forward into the touch, his body acting before his mind could. 

And fuck, if he was _harder_ then he had ever been before in his life then that wasn't his fault, it was whoever decided to quite literally fuck with him—he _hopes._

"Please please _touch_ me more holy fucking _shit_ don't stop, _please don't stop,"_ Tommy begged, and thank god his wish was accepted. Moment's later his pants were being unbuttoned, unzipped and finally pulled down.

And _kisses_ were pressed against his thighs, soft nibbles as a free hand teased him with the idea of his underwear coming off. The rough hand trailed the elastic hem of what felt like a fucking cage. Fingers slowly pulled down the waistband, those kisses and nibbles soon leaving him—

But when he looks down he can physically see where he'll have marks, the only real evidence he's being _touched_ —the only real evidence that he hasn't gone insane.

He's going to go insane if this continues any longer, he needs release _now,_ this slow teasing shit isn't what he's used to—maybe that's why he's _harder_ than he's ever been, actually taking more then five minutes from start to finish.

When his underwear comes down, there's a few seconds of nothing—instantly he misses the hands, misses the fact that something isn't touching him anymore, but then there's something cold right around his ass and—

Holy _fuck._ His legs give out the moment something wet and cold rubs around his rim, dropping to the ground with a loud fucking groan. He instantly covered his mouth, eyes rolling into the back of his head as— _it's a finger, has to be a finger_ —gently rubs him, assuring he'll be fine before going inside.

It's uncomfortable at first, not really moving around—he feels a little _too_ tight, a little too clenched until a sideways kiss is pressed to his Adam's apple. The finger finally moves, hitting something that makes his stomach boil.

An invisible hand grabs his own, the one covering his mouth before gently moving to pull it away—Tommy listens, the sounds properly coming out of his mouth as a second finger goes in, scissoring him, way too fucking stupid for his own liking—he probably sounds like a _hanging_ pig, ready to be slaughtered.

It gets a good reaction from whoever's behind him, though, considering he continues to open him up, even adding a _third_ finger—he jolts upwards when that happens, sliding back down almost instantly, and holy shit that feels too good not to do again—

He does it again, gently _fucking_ himself with those fingers, a hand grasping his waist to encourage him. Said hand slowly trails down his shoulder, his arm—it doesn't stop until it reaches his wrist, holding it with a dominating grasp.

And suddenly the fingers are gone, just as he was about to cum. "Hhh, _no—."_ He mumbles, head dropping down ever so slightly as he stared towards the floor, panting coming from his lips.

Although there is a tug at his wrist, an upwards tug that is—Tommy complies to what he _thinks_ the silent figure wants, standing up slowly. 

Without warning something enters him again, but this time it's not fingers—he feels the other bottom out, a shakey moan escaping his lips. He was so fucking full now, he almost hadn't been prepped enough—but the cock inside him was slick, meaning some sort of _lubricant_ had gone on before hand. 

When said cock pulls out half-way and trust's in again, Tommy sees _stars._ His one arm is pinned to his back, a firm hand still against his wrist well another one plays with sensitive nipples, going back and forth between the two.

Hell, the figure is even kissing his neck again—biting down harshly before gently licking and kissing up a bit of blood trailing down his neck. It's _too_ much at once, too _good,_ too _full—_

He's shaking again, his legs begging to give out—the rough hand being the only thing reminding him not to drop to the floor and bruise his knees even more. With each trust more and more moans escape his lips, pleads to be fucked harder, more friction, _anything—_

The invisible figure complies, giving him a particularly hard trust before the hand gently yanking at his nipple trailed down, cupping his ass before leaving it for a mere moment. A hard slap across it being the next touch he receives. 

"Yes, fuck, so _good—."_ He all but slurs out, legs shaking as he reached forward, gripping onto the wall. Whoever was thrusting in and out of him after that only got faster, Tommy stabilizing himself before reaching down to gently pump his own member.

He cums quicker than he'd like to admit, not even lasting a minute the moment he actually added any real friction to his length—the figure follows soon after, cuming inside of him.

When the figure pulls out, Tommy can actually feel it leaking out of his ass—other than the nibbles and love bites, the white thick liquid dripping out of him was the only real proof he had just lost his virginity.

* * *

He doesn't _remember_ falling asleep, but when he wakes up he's in bed. He's completely naked and cleaned up, a few dozen blankets wrapped around him—it's done way too _lovingly_ , almost making him sick in the best kind of way. 

He's actually in Wilbur's old room, the one in Pogtopia—it's the only room without multi-colored buttons on every wall, the very same one he feels guilty for being in. It's like an invasion of privacy—but for some reason he ended up here instead of his own bed.

There's a book on the side table, too—and _really_ he wasn't going to go snooping and read it until he seen his own writing on the cover. _How To Sex_ —a note lays underneath it.

_TommyInnit, Author of How To Sex_

_Not only is this extremely inaccurate information, proven wrong 'scientifically', it's extremely sexist and vulgar. I'd like you to write a second, updated version for me, one that I'd be able to keep within my library. I'll give you a day or so before coming to collect the book, thank you for your compliance in the meantime._

_Sincerely, G.S._

Tommy doesn't know a G.S., doesn't exactly find himself wanting to write a second version of the best novel ever written—but he finds himself complying, almost _immediately_ after he gets dressed.


End file.
